


not a solid, but a soft thing

by strzyga



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Barebacking, Cunnilingus, F/M, Future Fic, Genderswap, Girl!Stiles, original characters (minor)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-27
Updated: 2012-09-27
Packaged: 2017-11-15 03:29:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/522651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strzyga/pseuds/strzyga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has just sat down at the wrought-iron table with her pumpkin spice latte when Erin says, voice heavy with awe, "Oh my god, who is <i>that</i>?"</p><p>They all turn to look, Stiles last of all, and she takes a brief moment to be glad she'd already settled her coffee on the table when she sees him, leaning casually against his Camaro not three feet away, looking like something straight out of a fantasy. He's forgone the leather jacket, choosing instead a simple gray henley; the sleeves are pushed up to his elbows, and the fabric clings tight to the breadth of his shoulders, hangs loose from his ridiculous pecs. The way his black jeans hug his thighs makes her mouth go dry. He's staring right at them, mouth curled in a faint smile. She's on her feet instantly, grinning wildly. "Derek," she says, and then she's around the table and throwing herself at him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	not a solid, but a soft thing

**Author's Note:**

> so a while back, like a whole week or two, i had this sudden and powerful urge to write filthy, filthy sterek porn. naturally i didn't do it, because i couldn't think of anything to write. then a couple days ago i really, really wanted to write some het anal, because i love it and it's very hard to find in fanfiction, and i was like, hey! let's do that for my filthy filthy sterek porn!
> 
> and then it grew a mind of its own and started vomiting feelings all over the place, which was nOT PART OF THE PLAN, OKAY, and then the backstory just kept shoving itself in, and it just kept going on and on and it wouldn't stop. this is the largest amount of words i've written in eight hours, and by the time i finished i was absolutely drained, wow. spoiler alert: writing is hard, guys.
> 
> i'd like to thank my sister, rosie, for offering to proofread it for me even though she's overloaded with schoolwork. she didn't manage to find time to do it, but that's okay, lol, she was there to hold my hand via text messaging anyway whenever i started freaking out. more thanks to jasmine, for enabling me and encouraging me and for finding time in her own busy school schedule to proofread it. i'd like to thank brenna, too, for telling me she was impressed every time i sent her the updated word count and for giving it a look through once it was done. every story takes an army, guys, even if mine was only three-strong. you are all my favorites.

It's the weekend, so Stiles and her friends are out celebrating at the local Starbucks. The air is crisp with cold; autumn has finally nestled its roots into the warm bed of summer, and the trees are starting to turn colors. Stiles has actually had to close her windows the past couple nights, the air just cold enough to be unbearable. 

Stiles has just sat down at the wrought-iron table with her pumpkin spice latte when Erin says, voice heavy with awe, "Oh my god, who is _that_?"

They all turn to look, Stiles last of all, and she takes a brief moment to be glad she'd already settled her coffee on the table when she sees him, leaning casually against his Camaro not three feet away, looking like something straight out of a fantasy. He's forgone the leather jacket, choosing instead a simple gray henley; the sleeves are pushed up to his elbows, and the fabric clings tight to the breadth of his shoulders, hangs loose from his ridiculous pecs. The way his black jeans hug his thighs makes her mouth go dry. He's staring right at them, mouth curled in a faint smile. She's on her feet instantly, grinning wildly. "Derek," she says, and then she's around the table and throwing herself at him.

He catches her, hands light on her waist, and swings her around in a circle. She laughs dizzily when he stops, arms slung loose over his shoulders, and hooks her legs around his hips. She's not a short girl, almost of a height with him, so she's higher than him like this, has to lean down to kiss him. She can feel him smiling against her lips, nips him playfully, and then she drops to her feet. His hands move, one sliding around to dip into the back pocket of her jeans, the other to cup itself around her neck, thumb pressing lightly into the hollow of her throat. "Hey," he murmurs, hazel eyes warm.

She smacks him lightly on the shoulder, still grinning. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming?"

"Thought I'd surprise you," he says, the quicksilver flash of his smile revealing a glimpse of sharp white teeth.

Stiles rolls her eyes at the display. "Don't bare your teeth at me," she laughs. Then, quiet, mocking, "Wolf to the core, right?"

He makes an agreeable noise, uncaring of her sarcasm, then glances to the side over her shoulder. Stiles turns to find her friends staring gape-mouthed at her; Jenna's hand is caught midair, coffee half to her mouth, like something straight out of romcom. Stiles presses briefly, subtly into Derek's bulk. Then she grabs him by the hand and leads him to the table, sitting back in her chair while he grabs one from a nearby table. "Guys," she says, and knows there is a ridiculous smile stretched across her face, "I've told you about my boyfriend, right? This is Derek."

For one long moment they all stare, apparently stunned. Then Jenna gathers her wits about her and takes the sip of her coffee she hadn't managed before and says, slightly accusing, "You never told us he was coming to visit."

Stiles sighs. "I didn't know he was," she says, throwing him a short glare. "Apparently he thought it would be a good idea to surprise me." She turns to face him fully, frowning. "You're lucky I'm free this weekend, dude. What if I'd been working?"

Derek shrugs. "I would have waited," he says, like that isn't a totally ridiculous thing to do. The girls are staring. He glances around, then stands. "I'm going to grab myself something to drink. You want anything else?"

"I'm good," she says, helpless against her smile.

He nods, leaning down to press a quick kiss to her hair, then disappears into the store. Everyone immediately leans forward, faces eager and excited.

"Holy shit," Rebecca hisses, "why didn't you ever tell us he looked like _that_?"

Stiles raises an eyebrow, glancing over her shoulder. Derek meets her eyes briefly through the glass, smiling wickedly. He's listening to every word they're saying, the bastard. She shrugs. "What does it matter what he looks like?"

That throws them for a loop, briefly, before Alicia leans back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest. "Okay, fair," she admits. "It's just, there's a good looking boyfriend and then there is _that._ You never even showed us pictures! We were starting to think he didn't actually exist."

"Oh my _god_ , guys," Stiles says, laughing. "We've been dating since my senior year of high school, okay?" She takes a sip of her coffee and rolls her eyes. "Yeah, he's, like, ridiculously hot, I know, but he hates having his picture taken. I haven't shown you any pictures because I don't have any."

She's saved from the rest of that conversation by Derek's reappearance at the table. He's carrying a coffee in one hand and a platter piled high with pastries in the other. He shrugs at her look. "I was hungry," he says, like it's totally normal. Which it is, for him and for Stiles and for all of the pack, but the girls don't know that.

"Share," Stiles orders, and snags the cheese danish she knows he wanted. He glares, and she smiles brightly.

Derek sighs and drops the plate in the center of the table. "Have at it."

Erin and Rebecca share a look, and then Rebecca's hand darts out and she grabs a blueberry lemon square. The rest of the girls follow her lead, and then Derek, looking pained, takes one pastry for himself. Stiles laughs at him mercilessly, then shoves the rest of the plate at him. "Eat the rest, you big baby."

He glances at her, then back at the plate. There's still about a dozen pastries on it. He looks back at her.

Stiles rolls her eyes, grinning. "I'm serious," she says. "I've already eaten breakfast. I'll be fine."

"I bought them for you," he insists, narrowing his eyes.

Oh god, there he went again. Stupid predator instincts. He didn't need to provide for her to be a good mate, and she'd told him a million times if she'd told him once, but he never gave up. She sighs and lets him nudge the plate over so it rests between them. "You're ridiculous," she says, fond. "You will eat some of them, though."

He hums in agreement, and proceeds to devour half the pastries on the plate while Stiles turns back to her friends, who are trying not to stare too obviously. "So," she says brightly, "what are we doing tonight?"

 

After dropping Derek's car off a few streets away from the apartment (parking on their street is residential only, and for some ludicrous reason they are not allowed to buy guest permits), they decide to go for a walk, maybe stop at the Pru for a bit of shopping when it gets darker. Boston is a city made for walking, and she's never been so glad she decided to go to school at Northeastern than when fall rolls around again. The air is sharp with new cold, and with it you can almost pretend the air isn't thick with pollution and car exhaust. She and Derek walk side by side, his hand tucked into her back pocket, her arm around his waist. Their shoulders brush against each other with every move. She'd almost forgotten how in tune their bodies are, the way her blood hums under her skin at the feel of him, huge and solid and constant, the way she can actually feel the pack bond across the strange connection that formed between them, so long ago. She is hyperaware of his hand in her pocket, burning like a star through the denim.

They've stopped at a crosswalk, waiting for the traffic to clear enough to cross. Across the street a tourist presses the walk button. Content, Stiles lets her head fall back to feel the sun warm on her face, smiling. Her friends bustle around them, talking and laughing about nothing at all. She joins in when she feels like it, smiles as she listens to them when she doesn't. She'd met them her freshman year of college; Erin and Rebecca are in the philosophy and religion major with her, and through her joint major of anthropology she'd met Alicia. Jenna is majoring in telecommunications, but they'd shared their freshman Greek class, and they'd been good friends ever since. They're smarter than people take them for, smart enough to go toe to toe with Stiles when it comes to in class discussions or working through term papers. It helps that they've grown used to the way that Stiles will occasionally dominate the conversation, and also to the way she sometimes likes to stand on the sidelines and listen.

She'd never imagined, growing up, that she'd find a better friend than Scott, and she hasn't, not really. But she has found some that are just as good. One day, maybe she'll tell them about growing up in Beacon Hills.

By mutual decision they decide on a roundabout route that'll take them by the Newbury Comics on Newbury St. and the Barnes & Noble on Beacon St. They spend hours in each place, and before they know it it's getting dark and Stiles has acquired a metric ton of new reading material and some classic television she's been dying to own.

For dinner they stop at the Panera Bread on Huntington Ave., a little out of their way, but not a big deal. Derek orders enough to feed a small elephant, and he and Stiles split it between them. Talk wanders from classes to boyfriends -- Erin and her boyfriend Bobby are in yet another off period -- to what they'll be doing over the holidays. Stiles picks up her paycheck, and around seven o'clock they pick up all their stuff and continue their walk to the Pru. They wander through the mall until closing time, by which point Stiles has bought a half dozen new teas from Teavana and Derek has talked her into allowing him to buy her a new set of slinky, lacey lingerie from Victoria's Secret complete with stockings, to much giggling from the girls. 

The walk back to the apartment isn't a particularly long one, a little over a half hour depending on traffic. The five of them rent it together on Pontiac St., just off of Huntington Ave. It's a walk Stiles has made in rain and sun and snow, three o'clock in the afternoon and one o'clock in the morning. She could, and probably sort of has, walk it in her sleep.

They pile in through the front door like a herd of puppies, dropping their purchases unceremoniously by the door. Stiles catches Derek watching fondly, and she leans up to press a quick kiss to his mouth. "Give me a minute," she murmurs. "Bathroom's that door right there--" she points to the closed door near the kitchen "--and my room's down the other end of the hall."

He nods, leans down to rub their cheeks together -- werewolves, man, always with the scent marking -- and then lopes down the hall to her bedroom door and disappears inside. She turns and follows the rest of the girls into the kitchen, rubbing uncomfortably at the back of her neck. 

"So," Erin says, smirking, "he seems nice."

Stiles leans against the doorframe, hands stuffed into her pockets. "He's the best," she agrees. She bites her lip, then shrugs awkwardly. "He was a life saver, back in high school."

Jenna sits slowly at the table, head tilted. "Maybe," she says hesitantly, "you could tell us about him? Some day."

She takes a deep breath, lets herself feel the panic for a moment, and then lets it go. "Yeah," she says, smiling. She will, too, she knows. She'll tell them about growing up with no mother, about Scott becoming a werewolf and all the shenanigans that led to. She'll tell them about Peter, and the kanima, and the alpha pack, and the bone shattering terror that she'd be dead and buried before she graduated highschool. She'll tell them about Derek finally pulling his head out of his ass and opening up, to the pack, to Scott, to her, about how Derek had been there when no one else had, when she was too terrified to tell her father the truth, when Scott was so distracted trying to get things to work with Allison he hadn't noticed his best friend falling apart. She'll tell them about the daily panic attacks and the desperate need to just _get away_ that had led her to applying for college all the way across the country. Not yet, but soon. "Maybe you guys could come visit me, this summer."

They all smile at that. It's been a sore subject, she knows, her reticence about her home. Maybe one day soon she can move on, leave it behind her where it belongs.

She clears her throat, glancing over her shoulder down the hall. "Now," she says, "if you'll excuse me..."

"Don't forget to wear the new outfit," Alicia says, and winks.

Stiles turns red and ducks her head, smiling. "Yeah," she says, "I think he'd like that."

 

She stands for a long time in the bathroom, twisting and turning in front of the full-length mirror someone, she can't remember who, had bought and installed on the back of the door. The bra and panties are a rich, dark blue, delicate white lace flowers twining intricately across the soft curves of her breasts, the swell of her hips. The lace frill on the panties tickles her thighs, and she spends a good minute or so just running her fingertips along her calves, the feel of the stockings making her shiver.

Then she grabs her bathrobe from the hook and pads quietly to her door. She lets herself in without fanfare. The door clicks quietly shut behind her, and Derek looks up from where he's sprawled across her bed, reading a book he'd obviously pulled off her shelves. She holds a finger to her lips, then points at the door, and crosses to the window where she has carved a tiny rune into the windowsill. She presses a fingertip to it, whispers a quiet word, and the air in the room seems to shimmer for a moment with a strange otherness before it settles.

Derek cocks his head, gaze steady as he watches her. He's dropped the book on her bedside table.

"Okay," she says, "the room is now soundproof." Her cheeks burn.

He quirks an eyebrow, leaning forward with interest. He casts his eyes around the room, catching on the assorted talismans and carven idols and fetishes she's collected and placed deliberately throughout the room. "Do they know?"

"No," she says. Then she breathes in deep and corrects, "Not yet. I think I'll tell them, soon." Her fingers catch the edge of her robe, fiddling nervously. "Right now they just think it's part of my interest in religion, which I guess it is, but."

Derek nods. "Alright." His voice is quiet. "If you need anything."

She swallows thickly. "I know."

He tilts his head again, then rolls liquidly off the bed and into her space, hands coming to rest at her hips. He presses their cheeks together, making a deep noise low in his throat, and she lets herself relax against him, breath slowing to match his own. The prickle of his stubble against her skin is familiar, the sweep of his thumb along the sharp jut of her pelvis settling her nerves. She draws back, meeting his eyes and smiling. Then she undoes the tie at her waist and lets the robe slip from her shoulders.

His eyes sharpen, go hot as they travel slowly down the length of her body, taking in the lingerie he bought for her and the contrast of the fabric against her pale skin. He reaches up to thumb the wing of her collar bone and she shivers all over. "Come here," he murmurs, and she goes when he pulls. The press of her breasts against his chest is a familiar ache, and she groans low and rough when he takes her mouth in a long, wet kiss. He pulls back just long enough to strip his shirt off before pressing close again.

They fall back on the bed, her astride his hips, hands braced on his ridiculously chiseled chest. Just looking at him drives her wild, something straight out of Greek mythology and he's all hers. He leans up, abdomen rippling, to kiss the base of her throat, hand sweeping up and down the length of her back before landing on the curve of her ass. He gives her a good pull, presses her against the line of his dick through his jeans, and she cries out, whole body going hot. She reaches down, tugging sharply at his belt; after watching her fumble for a moment, he reaches down to help, and together they peel his jeans off his legs. 

He'd gone commando, jesus; Stiles wants him like she's wanted nothing else, wants him in her and on her and all around her, wants to bury herself in his skin, wants to curl up in the vulnerable space behind his breastbone and never leave. She settles back across his hips, her whole body rolling against his. The press of his dick against her through the flimsy silk makes her whine high in her throat. Then he gets his hands on her breasts and she whimpers, scrambling to undo the clasp in her bra; her breasts fall into his palms, and he rolls her nipples between his fingers, calluses catching rough against the sensitive skin. They rut like that, silk slick and wet against her clit, until her body pulls tight, the urge to scream building up in her chest. Her chest heaves as she gasps.

Derek leans up, takes one of her nipples in his mouth. She cries out, tangling a hand in his hair, as his other hand slips down into her panties, fingers hard and relentless on her clit. He sinks his teeth in her breast, tongue swirling, and she comes, orgasm rolling over her quick and wild. Stiles collapses against his shoulder, panting, a little dizzy with it. He presses a kiss to the hook of her jaw, running a soothing hand along her sweat-sticky back. After a moment he makes a questioning noise against her skin, and Stiles leans back, nodding.

"I'm good," she says, hoarse.

He grins, kissing her fondly. They make out for bit, breath catching in their lungs, the skin of his waist smooth against her thighs. Eventually he breaks away to drop a line of burning kisses down her throat, and she lets her head fall back, baring her throat to his gaze. His whole body surges, and his low growl lifts the hair on her arms. He sets his teeth to her skin and shakes her gently, and she stays limp and quiet, keeps her breathing steady until he leans back. He turns them around, pressing her into the mattress, and kisses a trail of fire down her stomach. He stops at her navel, lingering to suckle and nip a crown of bruises across her hips. She whines, hips jerking with each bite. 

He moves on only when she is shivering all over, making frantic noises in her throat. His palms, warm and rough, spread her thighs, and he settles on his elbows, pressing teasing kisses into the delicate skin. He tugs her panties down with his teeth, leans up just long enough to work them the rest of the way down her legs and toss them aside. Then he bites her, taking the tendon between his teeth and shaking, hard enough that her leg jumps in reflex.

"Mother _fucker_ ," she shouts, and she shoves a hand into his hair and yanks in punishment, gasping. "I hate you, oh my god."

Derek laughs, breath hot and wet. He presses a kiss to the bite in apology; then he nudges his face into the stretch of skin between her thigh and her pelvis and just breathes. She shivers but relaxes into the mattress, eyelids heavy, fingers playing gently with his hair. He likes to scent here, like the animal he has to try so hard and pretend not to be, the truce with the Argents too tentative for him to do anything else. But he's as much as wolf as man, she knows. He was a born werewolf, something the Argents never could seem to understand. He can't just turn the wolf off whenever he wants. In a lot of ways it's easier for the rest of the pack, being bitten. Derek has to try harder.

She sits up, presses a hand to his jaw and curls awkwardly around him. He shivers all over like an animal shaking water from its skin and presses deeper, clutching at her hip. Stiles breathes steadily and makes quiet shushing noises against the skin of his back, lets him scent her as much as he needs to. 

Eventually Derek sighs, the tension in his body relaxing. Stiles draws back until she can see his face, letting her touch on his back linger. His eyes glitter up at her from the shadow her body creates. "You know I don't mind the biting, right?"

He smiles. "Yeah," he says. "Thanks."

Stiles snorts and rolls her eyes. "Because it's such a hardship for me." 

Derek shrugs and says nothing. She gets it, though, because she's the same way. Sometimes, as much as you know something in your head, you still need to hear it said out loud.

That's quite enough introspection for one day, though. Time to get freaky.

"Alright, buddy," she says. "I want to get off, and I'm pretty sure you do too, so let's get the show on the road, pal."

Derek has to bury his face in her stomach again to control his laughter. She bites her lip, grinning stupidly. Her heart thuds against her breastbone; it amazes her, always, how being with him can make her feel like her heart is too big for her chest, swollen to bursting with love for him. It's hard to imagine what her life would be like now if not for him.

"I think the mood may actually have been destroyed," Derek says wryly, but he drops down again to press a dry kiss to her mons. He spreads her open with his fingers, and stays like that, breathing jungle warm against her until she starts squirming. Then he ducks down and licks a stripe from her perineum to her clit. She gasps, body bowing, and digs her fingers into his hair again, other hand coming up to clutch at the pillow beneath her head. He loves this, loves the taste of her, the feel of her; he's spent hours going down on her before, mouthing her until she actually cried.

Tonight, he cuts straight to the chase, gets his fingers in her pussy and suckles with just the right amount of pressure on her clit to bring her to the edge in a matter of minutes. She goes over with a cry, body jerking. Her breath rockets in her chest. 

He keeps going, though, dipping down further to get his tongue between his fingers as he spreads them, lapping at the juices that are pooled at her opening. "Oh my _god_." The words burst from her mouth, unbidden; she shudders with aftershocks and overstimulation. He laughs, swirling his tongue around her clit, fingers curling. Stiles whimpers, head spinning. "Asshole," she gasps, thighs pressing tight to his skull. 

He gets her off two more times like that, mouth working tirelessly, until she's so boneless she can do little more than shake against the mattress and gasp for breath. He rises up between her thighs like a primordial god, skin gleaming palely and eyes liquid. There is a faint tilt to his lips that makes something warm flutter in her belly; his mouth is wet with her juices. She finds him so attractive she actually has to close her eyes, chest tight. God.

"You good?" he asks, sweeping a hand along her side.

She nods, breathing raggedly. He gathers her to his chest, pulling her with him as he settles on his knees. She sags against him, the muscles in her abdomen burning, and lets him cradle her until she can support herself enough to stroke her hands over his pectorals, around his shoulders. The rabbit pulse of her heart has started to slow. "Mmm," she murmurs, smiling into his cheekbone. "You gonna fuck me now?"

He huffs a laugh, fingers tracing the curve of her spine. When his hand reaches the small of her back he palms her ass, letting his thumb rest at the top of her crack. "I was thinking we could try something a little different, tonight."

Her breath leaves her in a rush, fingers clenching around his shoulder. They've only tried it that way a couple times, and each time she went off like a geyser. "Yeah," she croaks. "Okay. Let's--" She swallows, trying to wet her mouth, which has gone dry as bone. "Let's do that."

Derek lets out a slow breath, pressing his smile into her temple. Then he pulls away. "Lube?"

Stiles clears her throat. "Uh, top drawer on the right."

He pauses to raise an eyebrow at her, then leans to the side, opening the drawer. His eyebrows go up, and he starts grinning. Stiles looks away; she can feel herself blushing. The drawer, of course, is filled with not only lube, but toys, dildos and vibrators of all shapes and sizes. Derek takes one out, pink and sparkly and springy, turns it end on end and gives it a considering look. 

"I get lonely," Stiles mutters, sinking into the pillow with shame.

"I'm not laughing," Derek says, sounding thoughtful. He shuffles things around, pulls out another, long and slim and black, flips the switch to start it vibrating. He looks-- intrigued. "We could experiment with these, if you wanted."

Stiles gapes.

"Not tonight," Derek adds. He looks far too amused by her current predicament.

"Not tonight," Stiles agrees dumbly.

"But some time." Derek is full-on smiling, now, fingers running along the length of the dildo in a way that is quite frankly obscene. He tilts his head, flicking the tip with his thumb. "You ever thought of buying a harness to go with these?"

Is he implying what she thinks he's implying? "Uhm." 

He shrugs and tosses the dildo carelessly into the drawer. "Another time, then." Then he frowns, giving the drawer's contents a good onceover. "Are you still on birth control?"

What? Oh. "Yeah," she says. "No condoms, right, uhm."

Derek smiles faintly, meeting her eyes. "I'm okay with it if you're okay with it," he says, gentle.

Taking a deep breath to brace herself, Stiles nods. "I'm okay with it." Besides, it's not like they haven't gone bareback before. Not often, mind, but it's happened. Sometimes they just wanted it filthy and messy, alright? She's been on birth control since she was seventeen. Shit happens.

"No scented lubes," Derek observes. 

Stiles makes a face. "Yeah, no," she says. "I don't want to smell like strawberries or whatever when I'm having sex, okay, that's just weird. Besides, I was kind of afraid they might be too strong for you, if you ever came to visit."

"I wouldn't mind," Derek says, finally grabbing a tube and tossing it on the bed before shutting the drawer. "How do you want to do this?"

Stiles takes a moment to think it through, then turns over to settle on her knees. She debates hands and knees, then decides against it and drops herself to her arms, breathing roughly into the sheets. She can't help but feel a little ridiculous, ass up in the air like this, but she's watched enough porn to know that it actually looks really hot from the outside. 

The mattress dips as Derek climbs back onto the bed behind her; the folds in the sheets shift and stretch with his movement. He touches her hip gently, and she can hear him flipping the cap open with his other hand. For a moment nothing happens; there are strange, wet noises behind her, and she frowns as she tries to figure them out. Then a slick finger presses to the base of her spine and she realizes he was warming the lube before he touched her. She takes a deep breath, forces herself to relax, and waits as Derek runs his finger up and down the line of her crack, brushing her hole with each pass. 

She jumps slightly, the first time he dips his finger in. He's ridiculously patient with her, though, so he doesn't let it deter him, just goes back to stroking up and down, up and down, until she's relaxed enough that her breathing doesn't even hitch when he slips just the tip in. For a moment he lets it rest there as she adjusts. Then he starts to move, sliding more and more of his finger in, moving shallowly, until he's in all the way up to the knuckle and her breathing has started to pick up. She shifts restlessly, hands clenching and releasing in the sheets.

He leans forward, pressing a kiss to the base of her spine. "More?" His voice is quiet, barely audible over her heavy breathing. 

She nods, eyelids fluttering. She is hyperaware of everything, the heat of him behind her, the way the fabric ripples beneath her knees as he moves. He pulls his finger out to slick up a second, and when he presses back in she is so relaxed he slips right in. Her breathing is loud in her ears, and her hips move of their own accord. She aches for friction. 

Derek presses kisses to her shoulderblades as he moves, making soothing noises into her skin. His fingers are slick inside her, just enough friction to leave her winded.

"Another," she gasps, "please, oh, please--"

He makes an affirmative noise, drawing back again. The stretch of three fingers is almost too much; he withdraws briefly, adding more lube, then tries again. Stiles whimpers, not sure if she wants to press closer or get away. Her hips roll wildly. The hand on her hip moves, then, rubbing slow circles into the small of her back. She takes a deep breath and lets his touch ground her.

It gets easier after that. His fingers are warm and slick, and the motion of her hips starts to match the rhythm of his thrusts. He fingers her for a while, drawing increasingly eager noises from her throat. Once his fingers started sliding in easily he pulls them out again. Her hips keep moving even after he's gone. Then he comes back again with a fourth finger, and Stiles makes a noise that is slightly alarmed.

"Sh, sh," he whispers to her skin. "I'm gonna knot you, tonight, I don't want you to tear."

She quivers for a moment, uncertain, then nods. 

The fourth is definitely a stretch. Even with the slick Stiles hisses uncomfortably, shifting away, but the pressure is relentless. Once he's got all four fingers in Derek stops moving, lets her adjust. "Okay," she says, once the pressure is bearable. He moves, twisting his wrist as he does, and she sucks air in through her teeth, but it's not bad, not really. It'll get easier, and it does, slowly. Eventually it just feels really fucking awesome, and she can't help but arch into the thrusts. God, he's got half his fist inside her. The thought of it makes her blood run hot.

"Ready?" His breath is hot in her ear. 

She nods frantically. "Yeah, yeah, god."

He laughs a little breathlessly into her shoulder. She can feel him, behind her, the muscles in his shoulder jumping as he covers his dick liberally in lube. Then he moves, shifting enough to line himself up. He taps the head of his dick once, twice against her hole, and she can't help but laugh, feeling inexplicably fond. She knows that if she turned to look he'd be grinning, head ducked a little because he still gets embarrassed by it sometimes. She reaches back with one hand to catch his and squeeze. He squeezes back quickly, and then he's pressing in, just enough force to get the head in before he stops.

Stiles grits her teeth against the stretch, bears down like they talked about the first time. She has to force herself to stay relaxed. It's been long enough that even vaginal sex would have been painful, but they've only done this three or four times before. Certainly not often enough for her body to be accustomed to it. "Motherfucker," she says, with feeling.

Derek snorts, but asks, "You need me to stop?"

She takes a couple deep breaths, seriously thinking about it for a moment. "No," she finally decides. "Just-- give me a minute."

He drops his body enough to rest his cheek on her shoulder. It makes his dick jump a hair, and when that doesn't send a flash of pain through her she exhales.

"Okay," she says, "go ahead, just be slow."

He nods, stubble scraping her skin, and presses forward at a snail's pace. It feels like it takes forever, but eventually he's in her to the root. She's panting by the end of it, and she can feel his chest heaving against her back, every muscle in his body vibrating with the strain of going slowly. They unwind together as she slowly grows used to the feeling; her body gradually loosens before it, and at her back Derek's breath comes more easily.

After a small eternity that is probably only a couple minutes, Derek gives a tentative thrust of his hips. It knocks the breath right out of her lungs, and she clutches desperately at the sheets, dizzy. " _God_ ," she chokes, blood singing beneath her skin. "Again."

Derek laughs quietly but obeys, thrusting shallowly. Stiles moans wildly, the friction of it setting her very bones afire. He takes it for the implied permission it is and builds up a rhythm, slower than they'd normally fuck but steady nonetheless. Every thrust shakes her breathless, leaving her gasping wildly for air. She can hear herself making loud frantic noises, but it's distant, overwhelmed by the drag of his dick in her ass.

"Brace yourself," he says, voice hoarse like he's been screaming.

She barely has time to gasp out a "huh?" before he's rearing back onto his knees, taking her with him. The new angle has him deeper in her, bares her pussy to cool air when he spreads his thighs wider, her own hooked around his. She shouts. Her cunt throbs, aching and empty, and she actually screams when he reaches around and gets his fingers in her, whole body jerking. His other hand comes up to twist her nipple viciously.

She comes like that a minute later, screaming, and wonders wildly what it would be like to be filled up in both holes, whether she'd be able to bear it. 

Derek is making soft animal noises behind her, thrusts growing more and more erratic as he gets closer. She can feel the swell of his knot tapping at her hole with every thrust, and the thought is at once both thrilling and terrifying. "Come on," she hears herself saying, as though from a great distance. "Give it to me, I thought you were going to knot me."

The knot pops in then, and Derek snarls, a harsh bestial noise that makes something deep inside her quail. Stiles makes a strange sort of hurt noise, stuck halfway up her throat. Her eyes tear up at the stretch. Derek keeps making short abrupt thrusts into her ass; he growls, frustrated, when he can't go any further. After a minute or two he settles, hips rocking shallowly, and she can feel the knot swelling a little further. Then he groans, vibrating from his chest to hers where they're pressed together. He shakes from head to toe as he tumbles over the edge, emptying copious amounts of come in her ass. 

God. It's gonna make such a mess when they're done, and he's going to love it, the weirdo. 

It takes him a bit, but Derek eventually regains his senses. The knot won't go down for almost an hour, she knows, so they're stuck together for a good while yet. It's a surprise when he reaches up to thumb her nipple, pressing a wet, sloppy kiss to her throat. "Think you can go again?"

His hot breath against her ear makes her shiver. "Fuck," she whispers, stunned. "I think-- Probably, yeah."

The noise he presses into her shoulder is eager and intent. He spreads his knees a little wider, which tugs uncomfortably at the knot but also gives him a better angle to finger her. She whines, so overstimulated she can't even hold her head up, and lets it fall back to rest on his shoulder. He jumps at the opportunity to mark her throat up, leaving hickey after hickey as he rolls her nipple between his fingers. He twists his wrist, and the new angle catches her g-spot. She sobs, grinding against the heel of his hand, thighs burning.

This time, her orgasm builds up slowly, wave after slow rolling wave, and when it breaks over her she can only whimper, every muscle in her body trembling.

He tilts them carefully onto their sides, curled up warm and solid behind her. The hand that's not pressed to her belly sweeps slowly down her side, tracing the contours of her waist, her hip. Derek sighs, content, a sweet breath against her shoulder. He buries his nose in the hook of her jaw, always slightly stupid with affection after sex. That's okay, though, because she's no better.

"I think I'm going to take up knitting," she mumbles, face half buried in the crook of her elbow. Her hair clings sweaty to the side of her face.

Derek rumbles against her back. "And why is that?" he asks, low and amused.

Stiles snuggles back against him, sighing. Her voice, when she speaks again, is slurred with exhaustion. "Gotta have something to do while I wait for your knot to go down."

His mouth curves against her skin. "Makes sense."

She cracks an eye open, glaring at him as well as she can without moving. "You'd better not be making fun of me, mister."

"Would I do that?" He's grinning, nips lightly at her ear to try and hide it.

The snort all but explodes from her. "Yes!" she says, offended. "Stop-- Stop biting me, I am not a chew toy!"

"Sorry," he says, not sounding sorry at all. He presses his face into her hair.

"Always with the scenting," she mutters, but subsides.

 

She's woken from her light doze when Derek softens enough to pull out of her. She grumbles irritably, incoherent, and he shushes her, sounding fond as he turns her over onto her stomach and presses a light kiss to her shoulderblade. "Be right back," he says quietly.

She must pass out again, because next thing she knows he's wiping her down with a damp soft towel, whispering nonsense noises into her skin. When he's done he sucks a bruise into the base of her spine. She swats petulantly at his head until he stops, and she can feel him shaking with silent laughter as he settles on the bed next to her. At first she resists when he tugs her towards him, mutters, "That'll teach you," drunk with sleep. Then she rolls over and makes herself comfortable against him, sprawled half against his chest, face tucked into the curve of his throat. "I'll show you scent marking," she says, and he laughs, body shaking beneath hers.

He laughs again when she smacks him with the back of her hand. "Stop moving," she orders. "I'm trying to sleep, here."

"Yes ma'am," he says, turning his face to her hair and inhaling deeply.

"Don't call me ma'am," she says, grimacing. "And stop smelling me, s'weird."

She falls asleep, then, so if he says anything in reply, she doesn't hear it.

 

He'll wake first in the morning, because he's an early riser. If it's early enough he may just go out for a run. When he gets back he'll have bought bacon and eggs, and she'll wake to the smell of him burning breakfast, because as hard as he tries he can't cook for shit. They'll argue good naturedly over it, and then they'll go out for breakfast, because Stiles will be too lazy to cook anything.

He'll end up staying the weekend, and she'll spend it with a faint limp and a huge grin on her face. They'll go out a couple times with her roommates, and Derek will endear himself to them, because he really is stupidly charming, even if he's still a total awkward turtle. Sunday night they'll fuck ferociously in the hallway while everyone else is at work, and then they'll spend so long cleaning the mess off the floor that he'll end up spending the night and leaving Monday morning.

Someday, Stiles will tell her roommates all about Beacon Hills, and they'll freak out at first, but still come visit her over summer break.

But most importantly, life will move inexorably forward. One day, in the near distant future, she'll look back at her life and smile.

Not yet, but soon.

**Author's Note:**

> it's incredibly unlikely that i will ever write in this verse again, but i have a little bit of headcanon that didn't quite make it into the actual text of the story, so i'll drop that here for you.
> 
> stiles graduated high school with honors, despite all the freaking out and all the panicking. part way through her junior year in high school derek managed to get his shit together and became a fucking fantastic alpha (which will always be my headcanon anyway, i point-blank refuse to accept the actual series as canon, i am in denial, it's okay, i accept this). he and stiles first had sex on her 18th birthday, and he has come out to visit her in boston, she was just in the dorms and they never left the room long enough for stiles to introduce him to her friends. as for her majors, just because she wanted to get away doesn't mean she never wanted to go back, or that she didn't care if her friends were hurt. so she double majored in religion and anthropology to get as much information as she could about the supernatural and what she could do to help, and chose greek as her foreign language because there is a lot of shit written about supernatural creatures in greek and she thought it would be useful.
> 
> one last sidenote, a whole fucking novel later, to add that the parts of boston i mentioned are real, and basically the only part of the city i know, because my sister goes to school at MassArt on huntington ave., and actually rented an apartment on pontiac st. last year with her friends from school. she doesn't anymore, so i don't feel weird about putting that out on the internet (er, sorry, rosie. :\\). there is actually a panera bread on huntington ave., and the pru is a huge and freakishly expensive mall within a ten minute walk from it. the newbury comics on newbury st. is, unless i am mistaken, the oldest store in the chain (thus, newbury comics). the barnes & noble on beacon st. is huge and beautiful and awesome, btw, you guys should ttly check it out if you're ever in the area.
> 
> anyway, if you're interested you can find me on tumblr at mahealethan. i post lots and lots of teen wolf stuff, lol, and i'm always happy to talk to new people.


End file.
